


seal my heart and break my pride

by IdiotCrusader



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Cyborg Genji Shimada, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Major Character Injury, Overwatch Retribution, Pain, Pre-Relationship, Self-Worth Issues, Trust Issues
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-29
Updated: 2020-03-31
Packaged: 2021-02-28 00:41:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 9,602
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22961086
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IdiotCrusader/pseuds/IdiotCrusader
Summary: The Blackwatch team is fighting to make it out of the Venice incident alive, and Genji is straight-up not having a good time.
Relationships: Jesse McCree/Genji Shimada
Comments: 15
Kudos: 165





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Look, bits and pieces of this draft have been around since the original Retribution came out, and I figured - might as well put them to some use now.

Genji had never wanted to just get on the damn dropship harder in his whole life.

The mission was... a disaster. They'd managed to make a breakthrough to the pick-up point, somehow, but it hadn't been easy by any means. Genji lost himself in the fight for the most of it, jumping, charging forward at the enemies, deflecting, getting rid of one target after another… The whole bloody ordeal was overwhelming. Genji had no idea how much time it’s taken them to get through the city, but it felt like ages. His concentration started to slip after the second assassin, and it’d cost him.  
  
It was his own fault, of course. He tried his best to stay vigilant, but it did nothing to save him from being pinned down by that heavy assault unit. The blow was enough to shock him into stillness for a second. Air got pushed out from his artificial lungs by the sheer force of impact, and Genji could feel something crumble and short-circuit under his armour. God, it hurt. It hurt even more than the bruising spilling over his remaining human skin and ribs.  
  
The stream of Moira’s biotics came from above, bringing immediate relief. A second later she yanked him back on his feet, and Genji didn’t even have time to thank her before rushing back into the fight. He had a mistake to amend for and a heavy assaulter to finish off.  
  
Moira’s healing did nothing for his seizuring circuits. Adrenalin helped for a while where she couldn’t, numbing the pain, but it didn’t last. Genji fought, and fought, and fought some more. He'd managed to summon his dragon once, to save McCree from a shot that only narrowly missed his head, and that final strain had left him exhausted, hardly able to stand upright. They were lucky to be under a decent cover that exact moment, or he wouldn’t have made it far.  
  
He remembered Moira saying that her healing only used the resources their bodies already had, and it protected them at the expense of their strength. Remembered Mercy chastising him for pushing himself too hard, for he was still recovering.  
  
It still felt like a failure. How long could this fight have lasted, an hour? Barely. No excuse to get tired that easily. No excuse to get himself injured. He was a half-machine now, enhanced with cybernetics, able to withstand so much more than his companions. A weapon to utilise. Genji was the one supposed to take the heaviest blows to shield them and then readily return to fight again. What he was not supposed to become was a liability to the squad.  
  
The only thing that served as small comfort to distract him from his shame: the evacuation must’ve been close. He could hear the engines in the far distance, and the mere thought of getting out of there tasted suspiciously like hope. A hope so sweet that Genji didn’t let himself listen too closely to the howling engines of the ship under chase and the distant explosions. He kept himself from noticing the way they circled around the waypoint and then had to retreat to another, again and again. The way Reyes’ face darkened after every short exchange with their pilot.  
  
He had always been good at denial. That was, until they learned that the ship’s not coming, full stop.  
  
“What do you mean, she’s turning back?” McCree’s voice. He sounded like a spoilt child that had just found out there’d be no dessert after dinner. They were all frustrated, on the edge.  
  
“You heard it!” Reyes snapped back. “It’s impossible to land under all this fire, and we’re not risking a fucking dropship like that. We tried a couple of pick up spots, neither worked. We’re gonna regroup, lay low for a few hours and try again later.”  
  
“Nice to know this ship costs more than our lives, boss!” McCree snarled, but there was no real bite to it. Not anymore. They were all far too tired, and he knew better than doubt Reyes’ plans. If he said “wait”, they waited. McCree might’ve been cross with Reyes for killing Antonio, but they shared a certain level of trust. Genji envied that. He craved the feeling of having his back covered, of a leader who watched out for him, someone trustworthy and interested enough to care for his soldiers… Reyes could be that for someone like McCree if he wanted to. Yet there was a big difference between McCree and Genji.  
  
Genji was a weapon now. He didn’t feel like he could trust anymore, and he wasn’t allowed to ask for it. It was probably for the better. He used to feel affection and trust for his brother, and he knew too well how much he had to pay for that.  
  
(Genji still missed him. He was mad, but at the same time, he missed the way it was _before_. Unbelievable. One would think he’d learn by now.)  
  
Now was not the time. Reyes ordered them to run and hide, and they did. Genji couldn’t catch most of the exchange between his teammates. All his focus went into simply keeping up.  
  
Genji was falling behind ever so slightly, limping. Every breath was a struggle, pain spread from his damaged chest to his sides and middle, concentrating there, and somehow that felt even worse than being shot or broken. He could feel some elaborate support mechanisms within him shifting, failing and rebooting, damaged. The mere thought of that, of resembling a broken toy full of shattering gears, made him feel sick to the core. Genji didn’t even know what was broken, let alone how to fix it. The pain feed was constant, no way to numb it. Breathe in, breathe out...  
  
“We don’t have many resources, have to make do. This mission was not intended to drag out for long.”  
  
“Oh, so you did not _plan_ for it to turn into the total clusterfuck? What a relief!” The thick sarcasm in McCree’s voice made Genji cringe. He never interfered when his allies would banter or, much worse, argue, yet it made him deeply uncomfortable for some reason. It was almost like family fights back in Hanamura, every tense moment he had to witness as a child, powerless to stop them… Genji hated this little analogy. He was no child now, and Blackwatch wasn’t anything near to a family.  
  
The pain soon made him forget about that discomfort, too. It was getting too sharp to think of anything else. Genji could not allow himself even the smallest comfort of wrapping a flesh, warm arm around his aching side and stomach - the others would surely see.  
  
He couldn’t let them see.  
  
Good thing his team was busy arguing over the next step of their so-called (and, Genji was pretty sure, nonexistent) plan B. The onslaught of the enemy forces seemed to have calmed down - what a blessing! Genji wished he could spend the calm before the next bout of the storm that was bound to come spacing out, but he couldn’t afford to lose what had left of his vigilance. So instead, he listened.  
  
"It’s getting late. Maybe Moira could use her biotics to get us going for the night." Reyes probably sounded sceptical even to his own ears.

"It's science, not magic, commander Reyes," Moira scoffed. "It's done enough wonders today, considering we've all, surprisingly, made it out alive. It can postpone the time by which your body reaches its limits, not turn you into an unstoppable machine... yet. That part's still in progress."  
  
Genji wasn’t sure how he felt about Moira. She was never openly unkind to him, unlike many others, and treated him the same strange way as she did everyone else - but her treatment made people around her feel like they were some sort of lab rats waiting for dissection. She was rather... disturbing. There was a constant threatening vibe surrounding her. It was safer to stay out of her way.  
  
On the other hand, she wasn’t the one to drag Genji back to life and into this whole mess. She wasn’t ever the one to pity him, to look at him with that barely contained pained sympathy in her eyes. She wasn’t the one to make him her prize project, a show-off for her medical prodigy and talent - oh god, look at that poor crippled Shimada bastard, up and running again, all hail the astonishing author of this medical masterpiece, what a miracle… No, Moira wasn’t one to do any of that.

Mercy was.  
  
Genji knew he shouldn’t feel that spiteful and bitter towards a person that saved his sorry life. He just… couldn’t change it. Mercy was the kindest to him, always. She talked to him in the softest of voices, she was there to see him at his lowest, sobbing in pain and terror, she comforted and fixed, she put in the effort. And Genji hated her for that. The humiliation was always a little too much. He knew he didn’t deserve that kindness, and he never wanted it in the first place. Mercy just didn’t understand. Moira might’ve been mad as a hatter, but at least she didn’t bother to pity him.  
  
Genji hated himself for hating Mercy, too. He could never appreciate anything - that’s probably why he couldn’t have nice things at all.  
  
It’s not like he could get along with anyone nowadays. Genji was bitter, resentful. Anger burned behind his chestplate every time anyone tried to get close. At the same time, he was lonely.  
  
People assumed Genji hated everyone, at it was true for most of the time, but not for everybody. He struggled to contain his temper, to put his trust issues aside for long enough to talk to anyone, let alone make a friend, but it didn’t mean he didn’t long for it sometimes. Some days, Genji was desperate for an outlet for his rage. Some nights, he was desperate for a shoulder to cry on.  
  
For someone who could at least pretend to care. It’s not like anyone would’ve bothered caring for a living weapon beyond the necessary maintenance and occasional pity anyway.  
  
Their current squad was… nice, in a way. Genji cared little for the fact that Reyes was to blame for the whole mess - he didn’t ever think about it in these exact words, but he trusted his judgement. Some things had to be done. There was Moira, and then there was Jesse. McCree, Genji had to correct himself every time. He wasn’t in a position to call him by the first name.  
  
Genji had an even harder time deciding how he felt about him then he had about Moira. McCree was… friendly when he wanted to. Charming, even. Knew how to make people warm up to him. At first, Genji found that trait annoying borderline suspicious, but now--it didn’t matter. He was not allowed friends now, and even if he were, he’s done more than enough to push everyone away by now.

"I take it we're gonna have to rest or somethin' before anyone collapses." McCree, as if on cue. "Know any good places around there, boss? Nice view, breakfast included and not packed with heavily armed bad guys?"  
  
McCree was joking around again, although the humour remained sardonic. Good sign. It didn’t necessarily mean he wasn’t _angry_ anymore, just merely that he was ready to postpone the confrontation till later, but it was good enough for Genji. A split team, physically or mentally, is no good in a dire situation like that. Plus, knowing McCree, that ‘later’ might as well never come - his anger tended to wear off over time.  
  
Genji liked that about him. He wasn’t used to people letting go of their grudges; at home, things worked differently. The missteps never really got forgotten, let alone forgiven. McCree was by no means a push-over, but he knew how to accept an apology, verbal or otherwise. Genji didn’t think Reyes would apologise, but he did care for the team, and for the people like McCree, it was often enough.  
  
“Our intel was patchy at best, but there might be an old safehouse we could use,” Reyes grumbled. “Let’s hope it’s still intact. Move it, we’ve got a way to go.”  
  
Whatever McCree had to respond to that, it'd drowned in another flash of pain. Genji clenched his teeth and bore it as he should, focusing on obeying the order: to move forward. He didn’t know how far away the safehouse was from their current location or how long they would take to reach it. Thinking too much just made pain harder to endure.  
  
They walked, and they walked, and then they walked some more.  
  
At times, Reyes would command a stop to let a Talon ship fly overhead and only let them move forward when the rumble of the engines passed. Once they encountered a heavy-duty truck loaded with Talon tech and personnel, but no more foot soldiers: it seemed they were moving away from the Talon base. No civilians, either. If intel really was as patchy as Reyes had complained, he was doing an amazing job at working with what they had. Genji idly wondered why the ship couldn’t be sent to the outskirts of the city to pick them up there, from a safer location, but perhaps approaching without setting off the air patrols would’ve been impossible.  
  
At the end of the day, Genji was used to keeping thoughts and doubts to the bare minimum and just doing what he had to do. Some would see the irony in it, seeing how his younger self angered the clan with his lack of compliance and disobedience. Genji didn’t see it as ironic. He saw it as evidence that the lesson his brother had taught him was well learned now.  
  
“Hold on, this might be it,” Reyes called out. Genji had barely realised their march came to a stop. “Don’t have the key, so we’ll have to handle the door.”  
  
A pause. Genji was too slow to realise his commander was looking at him, expecting him to slice through the door with his blade - it wasn’t a sheet of armoured metal, like the door they were breaching at the Talon base, but they had no keys (and why would they? there was never anything about the safehouse in the original plan). The blade was the quickest, easiest way to deal with the lock.  
  
Even as much as thinking about pulling out his sword and making a physical effort made Genji’s laboured breathing hitch. Would it hurt even more? He just stared at the door, unable to push himself into making the motion, as seconds ticked by. Any moment now Reyes could become frustrated with him and ask what his problem was…  
  
A bang made everyone flinch. McCree blew the steam off his beloved gun, giving the door a kick as the feeble lock, shredded by his bullet, fell onto the ground.  
  
“What?” He shrugged. “Ain’t no one around to hear us, and I figured just shootin’ it off would be easier. Dicing and slicing takes effort. We’re all tired.”  
  
After a tense moment or two, Reyes waved his hand dismissively.  
  
“Whatever. Just don’t make any more noise.”  
  
They entered the safehouse one after the other, making sure there’s no one inside to ambush them. McCree went in first, and Genji followed, eyeing his back with suspicion. Distrust was fighting gratitude within him. There was no way McCree had guessed what was happening, was there? He’d only decided to help by a happy accident. Everyone was too exhausted to truly pay attention. McCree’s attachment to using Peacekeeper whether the situation calls it or not must’ve played into Genji’s favour. 

Just a coincidence…  
  
The safehouse was tiny and not particularly cosy but it seemed like a decent hideout. Reyes made sure to block the door behind them so they would be harder to creep upon while Moira was fussing with her equipment, complaining that her biotics was running dry. Genji could only watch them from aside and hope for a moment of rest.  
  
“How are we feeling?” Reyes asked, straight to business but genuine. “I need all of you in the best shape you can be, we’re making a run for it tomorrow morning.”  
  
Genji, to put it simply, felt terrible. His younger self, Genji from before, could have cried over how much pain he was in, how helpless he felt knowing no one would come to fix him. He wasn't any stronger now. Just knew his place better. He had no right to complain and no one to beg for help - and then again, the pain was there most of the time now.

Slightly better, slightly worse... nothing to cry about. He really could get used to it if he only tried a little harder. Other members of their small squad possessed no cybernetic enhancements and were surely twice as tired. He'd never seen any of them crying. Even the mere thought sounded ridiculous.

Genji was supposed to be a weapon at their service, and yet he somehow turned out to be the weakest of them. Nothing groundbreaking here. He had always been a disappointment.

But his commander needed him up and running, so Genji had to at least keep up his appearances. Still, answering would’ve taken too much energy he didn’t have. He had to settle for a surly silence; luckily, no one expected anything different. Genji, as McCree liked to put it, had a reputation. He was not a talker.

"Mighty fine!" Jesse reported instead, clearly thinking he was speaking for everyone. His mood seemed to lighten since they reached the safehouse, Genji noticed. Makeshift as it was, it gave safety and a semblance of confidence. “This cowboy’s luck ain’t running out anytime soon.” He lifted his hat to demonstrate a bullet hole. That shot had only narrowly avoided blowing his brains out, but his luck was indeed going strong - Genji couldn’t see a single wound on him.  
  
Good. That, at least, served as a small comfort.  
  
“Here’s what we will do,” Reyes decided. “You take the ninja, go search the house, check if we can find some supplies in this godforsaken place. I will stay here with O’Deorain, check some maps and think through our next move. Then we’ll get some sleep in turns, I’ll take the first watch. If all goes well,” Moira visibly scoffed at that, but Reyes ignored her, “we’ll move out after dawn. Hopefully, things quiet down by then. Are we clear?”  
  
Everyone was clear on the instructions. Luckily for Genji, McCree was happy to split - the safehouse didn’t seem like it could be a trap of any kind, and each of them could handle searching a few cabinets on their own. Genji got to go to the second floor, which he hurried to as soon as the tasks were settled. A creaky narrow staircase led upstairs, where he was greeted by an unlit corridor with a couple of doors. Quiet and deserted, covered in dust all over. No one had used the place in a good while.  
  
Genji pushed the closest door and entered the small room. It was empty, except for a simple unmade bed and a few closets, which could contain some items of interest but right now Genji could hardly care about the supplies. He quietly closed the door behind himself to avoid drawing attention, made a few wobbly steps towards the nearest corner and finally, finally let his knees give out, sinking to the dusty floor.  
  
His stomach hurt. Everything inside burned, like he'd tried to take a sip of pure acid. Genji curled up, hugging himself around the middle, and quietly whimpered, silently hoping no one would notice. He needed to keep it together. To grit his teeth and endure until the dropship came back for them in the morning, and maybe when they're back, someone would be merciful enough to fix whatever broke this time.   
  
He had to be stronger, tougher, but he _couldn’t_. His traitorous body was causing him too much pain, too much torment, and the worst thing about it was, Genji knew it wasn’t at its limit. He wasn’t too wounded to carry on. He most certainly wasn’t dying.  
  
It just _felt_ like he was.  
  
Pressing his mask into his knees, Genji let out a dampened scream. Weak, vulnerable, pathetic. It’s just pain. It’s all in his head. He should be able to deal with it, why wouldn’t his mind just let him resist? Why, why, why?!  
  
A knock on the door broke off that train of thought. 

"Hey, darlin'? Gabe and I found some rations downstairs, thought you'd wanna join us. They’re stale but anything goes, I suppose. Gotta eat something."

Genji froze in place.

The universe just hated him, didn't it?

Of course, it had to be McCree. Out of all options, he had to be found in such a helpless and humiliating state by that one person he actually almost liked. Genji wasn't ever lucky.  
  
On the other side of that door, McCree was growing impatient for an answer. He called Genji again, this time by the name (and god, Genji secretly liked the pet names but he was in no state to appreciate them now, and somehow it made him want to scream even more), and then pushed the door. Genji could just about make out his silhouette in the doorway, although his expression was lost in the blur that settled in Genji’s vision. Here goes...  
  
Genji couldn't even pretend everything was fine this time. There was no excusing sitting in the dark, curled up against the wall like a hurting animal. And even if there had been, Genji wouldn’t have gotten out a single word. The pain was white-hot, so intense he almost thought he was going to be sick. Genji trembled, squeezing his eyes shut so hard they started to water. Or maybe the pain was starting to get to him after all.

Look at him, shaking and on the brink of tears in front of another agent. Pathetic, Hanzo's voice split out inside his head. Good for nothing. No one feels sympathy for your pain, because you're not even worth the time wasted.  
  
“Genji? _Goddammit_!”


	2. Chapter 2

Genji could distantly hear McCree calling for Moira, and he needed to get up, needed to escape or just persuade him he was fine before that escalated… too late. A blink later Genji was still doubled over on the floor, quivering with every agonising cramp and energy spike inside, and Moira was kneeling beside him. McCree was there, too, pacing at the back of the room. He sounded troubled.  
  
It made no sense at all. McCree had no reason to be worried about him. It’s not like he’d be the one to pay the bills for his _repair_.  
  
“...just told ya, I come in and find him like this!” It’s not even ‘worried’, Genji thought through the muddle of pain. He’d best describe it as ‘shaken’. They were all tired, that’s probably why… “Can’t you just patch him up with your science of something?!”  
  
“Patience, agent McCree. I am performing an examination.” The second Moira'd finished that, her gloved hands were on Genji’s shoulders, sliding down with expert dexterity.  
  
No, no, no! Genji didn’t want anyone touching him right now. He tried to break free from her grasp, as her hand slipped down on his side and then stomach, poking around the cracks in his armour. Nothing. She kept him in place, not even bothering to _tell_ him to hold still, and Genji almost whimpered again at the sickening helplessness he felt. He didn’t want anyone near where it hurt, and yet she could hold him down and do as she pleased. Goddamn Moira was stronger right now. Pathetic. He couldn’t even perform a few simple functions. Genji had two jobs on this mission, to get kills and avoid harm to his teammates or himself, and look how well this one went.  
  
The pain wasn’t getting any more intense, Genji didn’t think it could, but not being able to curl up again and shield the sore spot somehow made it feel twice worse. Moira’s hands prodded, pushed and searched for something relentlessly, while Genji tried to choke down another whimper. No one would care to stop even if he begged. People treated him like a malfunctioning tool because he _was_ one.  
  
“He looks like he’s in a great deal of pain right now…” McCree. Still distressed. Why?  
  
“Most likely is,” Moira retorted simply. “But it appears that I cannot mend this type of injury.”  
  
“How’d you mean?”  
  
Approaching steps, echoing across the room - or, perhaps, it was just the sound of blood pounding in his ears with his pain-racing pulse. Unless - no, it had been steps after all: next thing he knew, McCree was kneeling on the dusty floorboards next to him and Moira. Genji braced himself, but more intrusive touching didn’t come.  
  
“I’m finding evidence of intense pain syndrome, but no signs of flesh wound or bleeding, external or otherwise,” Moira listed, all business-like and ever so slightly exasperated. Of course, she hated to explain herself, didn’t like it when simpletons like them doubted her conclusions. Probably hated working with Genji, too. What a bother he must be. Waste of time. “Taking into account the fact that my biotics brought no improvement, the most reasonable diagnosis would lie in realms of cybernetics malfunction. As distressing as it can be, I have no reason to believe it is life-threatening.”  
  
“So what, just leave him like this?!”  
  
 _Yes_ , Genji wanted to say. There was no alleviating his suffering right now, he had come to terms with that long before Moira even got there. The next best thing would’ve been to be left alone, so no one could watch his humiliation and misery. _Please don’t look_ , Genji pleaded, but words were still too complex to manage.  
  
“There’s no immediate danger, and in any case, the relief options available are extremely limited,” Moira repeated, sounding somewhat less annoyed than the situation probably called for. Why, Genji couldn’t decipher. “I'm no expert on cybernetics. We would need Dr Ziegler.”  
  
Genji really missed his dragon right now. He could feel her presence on the back of his mind, warm and comforting, just barely out of his reach. But summoning her required strength he couldn’t gather… and he’d never let others see him soothed by her. His dragon was the only thing left from the past that remained untouched. Pure and his own.  
  
His head spun wildly. His condition took such a sudden nosedive his awareness of the surroundings went down right with it.  
  
Another voice, hoarse and weary, said from somewhere near the entry:  
  
“Oh, you’ve got to be fucking _kidding me_.”  
  
Of course, the bingo of awful just became complete: the commander was in, and he now knew how much of a burden they had to deal with, and Genji was letting everyone down just like he’d let down his family and there was no escaping the punishment for being such a failure and he couldn’t _breathe_...  
  
Someone was shushing him, hand in his sweat-soaked hair, and Genji didn’t like or want touched, not usually, but right now he clung to an opportunity to hide and focus on the feeling just to escape the memory flashes.  
  
Time skipped. He hurt. He could breathe again.  
  
More talking. Reyes must’ve been filled in on their… situation. McCree now sounded argumentative, even angry. Genji couldn’t tell if it was at him, and he was too disoriented and weak to apologise. The most he could do was curl up on himself tighter and wait for the pain to pass. He thought there were hands on him again - gloved and large, McCree touched him after all - but they didn’t go for the sore spots, staying firmly on his shoulder in an oddly grounding gesture, and Genji didn’t protest.  
  
“...the only option I can offer,” Moira again, growing tangibly more frustrated. “That would be the commander’s call to make.”  
  
Wait, what?  
  
“Like hell, it would!” McCree snapped, cutting through the fog in Genji’s head. “He’s a fucking _person_ , not a lab rabbit you get to fiddle with! Ask him first!”  
  
Ask him _what_? What were they on about, why, why him…  
  
“You were advocating for any method of pain relief five seconds ago, agent McCree. You should make up your mind and let me do my job...”  
  
Genji jerked his head to catch a glimpse of the others; pried his eyes open. Reyes was now towering above him, eyes schooled on Genji’s curled form - god, what an awful embarrassment, letting your officer see you this useless, in such disarray! - and forehead creased in deep thought. Their eyes met, and Reyes’ lips gave an unhappy twitch.  
  
“No, no, the cowboy’s got the fucking point. We’d be trading one flavour of incapacitated for another anyway. If Shimada can make the call for himself, fine, I'm all for it.”  
  
He was giving Genji a say in a decision of sorts, which… it didn’t... it simply made no _sense_ , to let a tool decide the way it was treated. The blade didn't choose to be sharpened. It lacked the agenda, the capacity to speak for itself. Genji still didn’t know what the question _was_.  
  
Moira leaned closer, perhaps intending to fill Genji in - he could feel the dizziness spike just thinking about the technicalities she’d throw at him, the need to work his mind hard to understand her words through the hurt, - but she never spoke up. McCree batted his hand at her, abrupt and demanding, in a clear _back off_.  
  
“I’ll do it,” he muttered darkly, his southern drawl rolling over Genji’s head. “You ain’t got the tact for this.”  
  
Under normal circumstances, this could’ve easily sparked an argument on subordination. Now, however, McCree and Moira only exchanged glances, before she shrugged and moved away with a brisk but non-angered:  
  
“The floor is yours.”  
  
Genji’s mind must’ve been desperate for a distraction, willing to latch onto anything at all, because he couldn’t stop pondering at why it felt like such a big deal for McCree. Moira was, of course, predictable in her reactions. Predictable and correct: a weapon should be dealt with as the wielder sees fit. Commander Reyes was, therefore, entitled to deciding what should be done about Genji by definition.  
  
McCree, though… did he challenge the authority just to be difficult? It was something he could do in principle, but the situation was too serious… it was…  
  
Another bout of pain rippling upwards through his lungs. McCree's face, leaning in closer. Genji did his very best to at least listen to what he had to say, as if his _best_ was ever any good.  
  
“Hey. Hey, doll.”  
  
Genji groaned in response. He couldn’t manage words right now, but he had to let him know he was aware enough to take in the words. McCree seemed to take the questionable communication choice in stride.  
  
“Moira says there ain't any major fixes we can cook up on the go, but she’s got a shot of the good stuff. You know the one? The shot we bring in case someone gets hurt real bad?”  
  
Extracting memories from the twists and knots his thoughts went and tangled themselves into wasn’t easy by any means, but this particular one surfaced readily. Panting, open-mouthed, saliva soiling the underside of his mask, Genji managed a nod.  
  
Yes. He knew the one. Every strike team went out in the field, carrying a dose of an extremely powerful heavy-duty analgesic. A special military design, powerful enough to deal with the metabolism of a supersoldier… or to carry an agent through the most awful, traumatic injury for hours. Postpone the shock till they’re safely in the hands of the medics, back in the HQ.  
  
It came especially handy with multiple amputations. Oh yes. Genji knew the drug that shot was charged with _very_ intimately. He was, after all, deeply involved in the… clinical trials, of sorts. You could say he had contributed to the refinement of the protocol.  
  
One of many, authored by Dr Ziegler.  
  
“It would settle the pain, but it hits real hard. You won’t feel much at all. It might not take you under all the way, but you will be kinda out of it. You want it?”  
  
McCree was still going on, and Genji had to forcefully blink a few times to refocus. Had to pay attention. He didn’t need the explanations, knowing the effects of the drug well as he did, but McCree, of course, had no idea. How could he? Genji didn’t ever _talk_ about it.  
  
Not a talker. Right. That’s just how he was.  
  
It was probably in his file that McCree had no access to. Genji idly wondered if Reyes had ever bothered to look through the details. Not that most of them could be of use. The weapon specifications, the potential? Relevant indeed. The detailed, well-documented by every medical standard, horrendous _torture_ Genji had to go through to get there? Not so much.  
  
He must’ve been too caught up in thought because McCree seemed to interpret it as hesitation and hurried to… reassure? Amend? Genji had a hard time telling.  
  
“Just to be clear, we won’t leave you behind. Ya _know_ that, right? You’d just have to trust us to get yourself through the rest of it to the evac. But there won’t be any more pain.”  
  
The thing was… The thing was, he _wasn’t_ hesitant.  
  
He was absolutely positive he didn’t want the shot.  
  
Genji shook his head, tense with stress. He didn’t expect McCree to understand. Of course, there was nothing to understand, he was simply being… irrational. Bratty, like his family used to call him all the time. He complained of the pain, and he was being offered a solution - who wouldn’t take it when it was handed out freely?  
  
It was just… the helplessness. Genji'd had too much of it. The thought of willingly letting himself lose the remnants of awareness terrified him beyond all rational measure.  
  
The obvious solution was to simply be made to comply. Just to force the medicine on him would’ve been so much easier. Genji wasn’t in a position to resist, he would be good, easy to handle. He just needed someone’s firm hand to bring the decision upon him.  
  
Please, just _make_ him.  
  
Please _don’t make him_.  
  
“Are you, uh… sure?”  
  
He was. He wasn't. It was all too much, too many variables to take into account: what was best for the situation and the team, what was an appropriate answer, what Genji thought the others would’ve liked him to do and what his traitorous mind and body wanted… No matter how hard he tried to push the latter to the bottom of the priorities list, it didn’t go away.  
  
Unable to bear the pressure, Genji pushed his mask into his own knees and simply waited, hoping they wouldn’t take too long to decide his fate. He really didn’t do well with uncertainty.  
  
There was another quick conversation held above his head that he’d mostly missed. The air of confusion radiating from the others was palpable and heavy on his skin, where he’d still had any skin left.  
  
“So be it,” Moira said, at last, clear and decisive as ever. “I presume agent McCree can stay here, then, and alert us to any further… development.”  
  
She got up and walked to the door. McCree, however, stayed put. Genji turned his head just in time to watch Reyes moving to leave, as well; at the very exit, he stopped and pointedly said:  
  
“Let me know if anything changes, got it? We’ll be downstairs, keeping watch. Working on that plan B in case we won’t be able to move fast enough tomorrow.”  
  
Genji couldn’t see McCree’s face but he seemed content enough to wave him off:  
  
“You got it, boss. I’ll look after him.”  
  
 _Look after him._ Genji’s life had been full of people willing to say that - his clan, his family, the medical staff, Angela, - and it always led to no good in one way or another. In the end, Genji didn’t want to be taken care of, he just wanted to be left alone. And yet...  
  
The lights went off.  
  
Genji didn’t resist when McCree lowered himself on the floor next to him once again; he couldn't recall when he'd gotten up in the first place - did he turn off the lights himself? Why and since when were they on, anyway? Did the place have electricity, or were his eyes oversensitive enough to confuse a portative light source they've brought with a lamp? Genji couldn't tell. A small groan of surprise slipped past his throat when gloved hands pulled him closer - carefully, mindful not to jostle too much.  
  
“Sorry. Sorry,” McCree half-whispered apologetically. “Figured you’d be more comfortable this way. Wish there’d be somewhere nicer, but, uh, carrying you to the bed would involve too much nudging. You’re kinda heavy, metal bits and all.”  
  
Bringing himself too care took way too much effort. Exhausted, Genji allowed himself to be handled, breathing though the fits of pain as McCree helped him lean against the wall and steadied some of Genji's weight against his shoulder. The second they were done moving, Genji let his eyelids fall shut. Not seeing, cutting off one of the senses… made it a little easier. The pain was already overwhelming. Best not to add sensations on the top of it.  
  
He’d been around that block before. Knew the drill for pain, at least.  
  
Something heavy and yielding - Genji took a second to recognise it as McCree’s beloved cape - went over his shoulders. It didn’t feel like much at first, but slowly, the warmth seeping into the ever-freezing metal augmentations drew a soft sigh from Genji.  
  
“There ya go. Just try to relax, alright?”  
  
Genji didn’t feel like replying. The pain evened out, he was riding its waves slow and steady now, and it wasn’t at all easy, but he could fall into a… rhythm, almost, punishing as it was. The shame of being seen in such a state no longer burned as bright. Compared to the frantic state he was in before, this was the closest thing to calm Genji could approach.  
  
He wondered if McCree’s presence had anything to do with it. All things considered, his company wasn’t… undesirable.  
  
Distant as he’d been holding himself, Genji couldn’t deny a certain level of trust that naturally built among people who charged headfirst into potentially fatal situations for a living. He could never be like the others, couldn’t truly be part of the team, but no one could forbid thinking highly of them. They were good people, even Moira. Dedicated, bright, trustworthy. If Genji had to be a weapon, he could be glad to be directed by the hands of someone he at least could respect and... appreciate, at times.  
  
Genji thought he'd rather be left to his own devices, but he was starting to see the merits of not being alone.  
  
To his credit, McCree was pretty decent at monologues, too.  
  
“So… Reyes said you should rest while you can. It might do you some good. You might wanna give getting that shot a second thought, but I won’t press it, cowboy’s honour.”  
  
Genji didn’t know what to say to that, so he said nothing. Logically, he knew a promise like this should prompt a thank you. In practice, he was still too confused as to _why_ McCree would press for him to have a say in the matter to be truly grateful.  
  
The fabric on his real, flesh-and-blood shoulder shifted back and forth softly, and it took a second to realise McCree was gently kneading it to keep his hands busy. Or to keep Genji distracted, or both. Hard to say. He kept talking, too:  
  
“I couldn’t figure out when ya got hit, y’know. Kept tracking back to our last engagements and everything, thinking we didn’t really fight for the last few hours, and then I realised… T’was the heavy, wasn’t it?” It was an obvious answer that didn’t prompt a confirmation, Genji didn’t think. He stayed put, only flickering his gaze upwards when McCree said, much softer: “That was a long time ago. Should’ve told us sooner.”  
  
Hiding a malfunction can be of dangerous consequence if there’s a fight to be taken, and the team isn’t aware one of their assets is far from peak condition. Guilt churned in Genji’s stomach at the thought, as he wondered if he should take this as a reproach. Had he done a bad thing, trying to preserve the scraps of his pride over his team’s safety?  
  
Of course, he had. Didn’t even think about it this way, about how _selfish_ it was...  
  
The thing is, it didn’t sound like a scolding. It sounded like genuine concern, and somehow, that was harder to bear. Unfamiliar. Genji wasn’t… equipped.  
  
McCree wasn’t talking anymore, Genji noticed belatedly. He paused, thinking something over, and then offered:  
  
“Want me to shut up? You’re... spacing out. A lot. I can shut up if that’s what you'd rather.”  
  
Somehow, that wasn’t even worth a consideration. Just like he knew he didn’t want the shot, Genji knew he didn’t want McCree gone, and it wouldn’t help for him to be silent. He moved to shake his head and then figured it wouldn't be enough, rasping aloud instead:  
  
“No. K-Keep talking.” And then, just to make a point or to make an admission, his pain-addled consciousness couldn’t decide: “Like your voice.”  
  
Another pause.  
  
“My voice, huh,” McCree said, in no particular tone.  
  
If he was surprised, he wasn’t displeased, at least. That was good enough.  
  
After that, McCree just kept chattering, as requested. About everything and nothing, really. Genji listened to some parts and used the others as something to keep him from drowning in pain; it wasn’t too bad overall. McCree did have a nice voice that went with a brilliant ability to tell stories without demanding unwavering attention. At some point, he fell silent once more, perhaps searching for another topic to go on and on about, and in the window of silence, they could hear the sounds of Moira and Reyes talking on the ground floor.  
  
The words were unrecognizable. Having listened to the echo of their conversation for a while, Genji gave voice to something that’s been on his mind for a while, getting clearer as the pain grew not exactly less, but subdued:  
  
“Commander Reyes is disappointed.”  
  
The kneading fingers in the cape stopped abruptly. A shame. Genji liked the repetitiveness of the motion, it was easy to ground himself against.  
  
“No he _isn’t_ ,” McCree said, way harsher than both of them probably expected. “He’d fucking better not be. It’s his fault you got hit.”

Lifting his head up demanded so much energy, you'd think he was trying to single-handedly move an armed truck. Stubbornly, Genji still dragged his gaze up and simply stared at McCree. He didn't need words to convey what he was thinking.

The commander's fault? Since when Genji's mistakes are on his commanding officer?

 _Only cowards seek excuses to place the burden of shame and guilt on someone else's shoulders_ , said a voice in Genji's head. So familiar, so dear at some point... A fresh strike of electric pain speared through Genji's chest, and he squeezed his eyes shut, clinging to that pain for dear life to get the ghosts of the past out of his head. 

He wasn't _like that_. Not anymore. Genji was older, better, now. He'd learned his lessons well enough to accept a fair punishment for his own incompetence without complaints.

McCree must've read it all off his face. The part of it that wasn't hidden behind the mask, anyway, but McCree had always been extraordinary at reading Genji's expressions. Clearly, he was so good at it, because next, he said in the tone of someone who hates backing off but tries really hard to avoid any confrontation:

“Fine. Let’s agree to disagree, have it your way. But I’m telling you, Reyes ain't disappointed." McCree sighed and shifted, pulling his knees to his chest. He was a warm, solid weight, and his gear and cape smelled like sweat and gunpowder. Genji liked that. "Reyes can be a bloody piece of work, and I'm still mad as hell for the stunt he'd pulled with Antonio, don't get me wrong. But he cares for us. I'd be surprised if he tried to press you about the drug. I mean, I didn’t ever get that golden shot, don’t know what it feels like. Kinda thought it might be nice, for some reason. But if you don’t want to risk it, that’s…”

Don't want to risk it? No.

Genji wasn't risking anything. He knew perfectly well what would happen. That's precisely what made his refusal to comply cowardly.

“I have. Tried it before,” Genji muttered, leaning his cheek against McCree's elbow, and, under McCree’s indecipherable gaze, added: “It does feel good, at first. I just don’t… do very well with it. Commander should know.”

He didn't even know what prompted this bout of honesty.

Was it pain? Did pain have that effect? Genji certainly had spilt his fair share of secrets in the hospital rooms, distraught and sobbing in Angela's arms. 

It flashed in McCree’s face, the moment when the realisation _why_ Genji could require the meds that strong dawned. Genji didn’t even know what he expected: the questions he didn’t want to answer... another round of confusion, maybe. He had even less desire to explain how _nice_ could turn into a _drug-induced living nightmare_ , and how even nightmares weren’t as bad as the deceitfully sweet cotton-soft helplessness. The feeling of not being in charge of his own body was just too _scary_. It plagued Genji at all times, he carried it around in his mechanical parts and endless hospital visits and chronic pains, but sedation really took it to the next level.

Genji didn't want to hear McCree say in the same voice as the medics, as so many people before him: aren't you living through the exact same thing every day? How's this time any different, then?

_Just one more time, sweetie._

_Get it together. Your father watches you from heaven and regrets rising a weakling._

Instead, McCree asked with a carefully faked joking ease:

“How’d you think he knows this? Don’t tell me you’ve been having heart-to-hearts with the boss. Can’t imagine.”  
  
Fair enough. Genji couldn’t imagine that, either, and not because Commander Reyes was untrustworthy or unwilling to listen. Genji was just… it was always him.  
  
“It was… in my file. The meds. Everything.”  
  
That made McCree pause. Genji could tell McCree was looking at him, could feel his attention in the deliberate drawl of his tone as he noted:  
  
“Don’t think anyone except the docs, including Reyes, has clearance to view those files. Medical privacy and all that.”  
  
“Not for me,” Genji said simply.  
  
Privacy, in general, was something human beings enjoyed. Genji… wasn’t exactly one of those, anymore. He was a half-machine, a weapon, but most of all, he was a _case_ in someone’s practice. He was so unique, they said, a one of a kind intricate masterpiece of medical genius at work. His name in the papers was, of course, changed to some neutral descriptor, a “patient X”, a number, perhaps, to preserve anonymity with all due respect to the law. What for? Genji didn’t understand why the doctors even bothered.  
  
People knew him, knew who he was. Just one look on his disfigured body, and anyone with functional eyes and half a brain could match the face (or, rather, the mask) to the story. Genji certainly didn’t bother with half-measures himself: didn’t even wear clothes, these days. Everyone he knew was already aware of _what_ he had become, and Genji never liked playing pretend. Nobody likes games that are inherently lost.  
  
It made sense, anyway. No privacy for a showcase. No humane treatment for a machine.  
  
McCree made a soft sound of understanding. His free hand idly played with the brim of his hat he’s taken off at some point, twisting and turning it in his lap; Genji watched his fingertips trace the edges of the bullet hole. McCree must’ve caught him looking because he said:  
  
“Thanks for having my back out there. We notice, y’know? You fight _well_ , Genji.”  
  
Not knowing what to reply for a hundredth-time today, Genji let his eyes close again, at loss. Recognition hadn’t been given out freely back at Hanamura, and neither was it in abundance with Overwatch. Genji didn’t think he needed nor deserved it. For a long time, the main source of praise remained at the medical: the cloyingly sweet reassurances and meaningless encouragement that Genji had learnt to associate with the humiliation and weakness of being seen in pain. _Just another round of physiotherapy, you’re doing so well, just one more time, so good for me. Thank you for cooperating. Your participation will do so much good._ _  
__  
_No, he didn’t crave any of it.  
  
What McCree said, however… Felt different. Felt _good_. Genji wanted more of that.  
  
He didn’t have any more choice in fighting than he’d had with playing a subject for the doctors, but at least there was some skill in the former. Saving a teammate was a dignified, worthy action to undertake, and Genji had been running low on dignity as of late.  
  
Overflown with a sudden surge of quiet gratitude, Genji huddled closer to McCree’s side, trying to convey his pleasure at the compliment wordlessly. Not just the compliment, everything. It was _everything_. McCree’s bullet cutting off the lock, his hand in Genji’s hair, his voice, low and calm and not at all aggravating the painful surges. The softness of the cape on Genji's shoulders.  
  
The way McCree seemed genuinely, if wrongfully, convinced he had to treat Genji like a human being - convinced with enough fervour to argue for it with the others.   
  
Genji wanted to do something for him. To repay for the kindness, because if his family taught him any lessons that weren’t obedience, it was _good manners_. Luckily, he knew just the thing.  
  
“I’ll get… the shot,” Genji halted, taking a forceful swallow to make his voice clearer, and clarified: “Would be easier to move. Tomorrow.”  
  
The pain wasn’t as sharp now when he could stay still and warm, as comfortable as he could at all be, but it would return. The strain of tomorrow’s final push wouldn’t be kind to him. Genji could almost feel the broken gears grinding against each other at the thought of it.  
  
He would be more of a liability in agonising pain than sedated. The only correct call was the one that put his team in as little danger as humanly possible up until the extraction.  
  
At first, McCree didn’t understand, of course. Just like he didn’t understand his initial refusal. 

“Thought you didn’t…”  
  
He was radiating confusion, and Genji supposed his judgements were hard to make sense of, for the outside observer. It was okay.  
  
“Hard decision,” he explained, curt as he could. Words still took a lot out of him. “Expected the commander to force it. Have to make it… myself, now.”  
  
“Hard decision but a _right_ one, you reckon?”  
  
Caught by surprise by the precision of the guess, Genji glanced up. Most people didn’t see how Genji arrived at his conclusions, thought of his logic as erratic or way too foreign to follow. McCree was being remarkable fast on the uptake, and that… was nice. Nice to be seen, nice to be paid attention to.  
  
McCree was smarter than he preferred to let on, and Genji liked it about him. Among… other things. Quite a few things, if he were to be entirely honest.  
  
Not waiting for a confirmation and clearly not expecting one, McCree absentmindedly remarked, almost as if he was talking to himself rather than Genji:  
  
“Like I said… Reyes ain’t as much of a bastard as he wants to seem. He wouldn’t… you know. He’s got a temper, and he goes _hard_ when he wants to, but he isn’t the type to force anybody.”  
  
Reyes and McCree had a history, Genji remembered. He suddenly wanted to ask about that. It was… strange, perhaps, that they’ve been on the same team for a while, and Genji hadn’t yet heard this story - any of the stories McCree wasn’t at all reluctant to share, Genji had gathered - even once. Strange, but not surprising.  
  
They didn’t talk much. In part, because Genji couldn’t stand being near anyone for days at a time. In part, because he had always believed the feeling was mutual.  
  
Genji wasn’t easy to deal with, even before… everything. Not a lot of people could or plain _would_ put up with his temper tantrums, the sulking, the pushing away one time and begging for attention later.

_Haven’t you heard? That Shimada brat’s got an attitude._

McCree, however, clearly wasn’t in any rush to leave right now. He hummed, thoughtful, and then mused aloud: 

“You know, Reyes would probably come visit, too. He’d better treat you real nice now, so you don’t have to worry about waking up alone when you go under.”  
  
Genji sent him a questioning look.  
  
“In the medical. Being stuck in the medical sucks,” McCree clarified. “Hey, I could visit too, if you want. You probably don’t, keep to yourself all you like, I respect that, but, just so you know, the offer’s always on the table.”  
  
Genji thought about it.  
  
Overwatch kept a… tradition, of sorts. Agents liked coming to see each other when one of them landed on the hospital bed, and Blackwatch, despite the grim reputation, didn’t lay off on the soft tradition. Genji didn’t participate in it, per se, but he spent a lot of time in the medical. He’d been around, seen it happen.  
  
Genji himself didn’t ever get visitors. Not for the lack of trying on their part - Reyes had, apparently, been checking on his subordinates with religious consistency. It’s just… his repairs were neither an easy task nor a pretty sight. Sometimes, the medics didn’t want to be disturbed as they put him back together. On most of the other occasions, Genji just didn’t want to be seen in the state of disrepair. And, well... if you ward people off from coming to see you with enough vigour, they stop trying.  
  
McCree clearly didn’t get that particular memo.  
  
“I do,” Genji murmured, surprising himself first and foremost. “Want it.”  
  
McCree… had a point, being stuck on a hospital bed wasn’t at all pleasant. And what harm would there be in allowing his teammates to see him, when they’d seen him at his worst already?  
  
If McCree expected him to refuse, he didn’t show it, agreeing easily:

“You got it, Tin Man.”  
  
It didn’t sound at all offensive or mocking. McCree gave pet names to everyone, Genji thought, and this sounded like one. He didn’t like having attention drawn to the fact he was a cyborg, but that easy, borderline friendly sort of teasing… Genji didn’t mind so much.  
  
Didn’t have a friend in a long time. Didn’t _want_ one, or, at least, _couldn’t_ want.  
  
If the budding admiration and timid interest Genji felt towards _Jesse_ could be called friendly at all, but that wasn’t something he was prepared to deal with. Certainly not now. Pain could, at least, serve as an excuse to avoid pondering that too closely.  
  
They sat in silence for a while.  
  
“Want me to call Moira?” McCree asked, clearly figuring out the logistics of administering the shot now that Genji's’ agreed to it.  
  
Genji shook his head. Not yet. It didn’t make sense: he would need the drug to get to the evacuation point, and there were a few hours to go before they could even consider setting on the march, hence to take that shot now would’ve been wasteful.  
  
Here, in the darkness with another agent Genji felt so weird - in a _good_ way - about, there was no pressure, no front to upkeep, and Genji could feel himself relaxing. Now that he wasn’t so excruciatingly tense, the pain turned into the white noise, the static buzz in the background. He could wait it out on his own, without medical assistance.  
  
McCree just hummed, amicable and easily persuaded.  
  
“You gonna fall asleep, then?”  
  
“No,” Genji said, just as tersely, not bothering to open his eyes.  
  
“Uh-uh.”  
  
The hand on the cape started stroking again, moving on from the fabric to gently pet Genji’s hair instead. Genji wondered if McCree was at all aware he was doing it - perhaps not. He was like that. Affectionate. Tactile. It must’ve come like second nature to him, and for once, Genji didn’t feel like recoiling from that touch.  
  
They still had a few hours to go till dawn, and the pain was… under control, more or less, and somehow, on a suicidal mission that went awry in the middle of hostile territory, Genji had of all sudden felt more secure than ever. Or, at least, in years - but considering the nosedive his life took, nothing before The Incident counted anymore.  
  
Sighing, Genji leaned closer into McCree’s side and relaxed as much as his damaged body would allow, using the soft rhythmic touches as a guidelight.  
  
Focusing on that rhythm, he allowed his mind to drift.  
  
Soon, it would be morning.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you kindly for the comments, agents, they're greatly appreciated ⭐


End file.
